Counting a Murder
by Moonstone369
Summary: Florence Hawthorne in an uncharacteristic move has decided to flee her ordinary Midwestern life for what she thought was an opportunity to be more than normal at an art school in the oldest city in Georgia. What she didn't expect was to become entangled in the paranormal lives of her art teacher and his mysterious friends. Are crows native to southern Georgia or just this one?
1. One for Sorrow

**One for Sorrow**

Florence looked up at the old clocktower shielding her eyes with a hand from the bright sun of a long but waning summer. It was the first clear day in a week, and though the monsoon like rains of Savannah, Georgia had broken some of the heat of this perpetual summer, there was a dewey band of sweat making a reappearance across her fair and freckled forehead. She grimaced at the time and choked a fluttering feeling down as it tried bubble its way up into her throat. She stepped a heavy footed sneaker into the street and then resolutely closed the gap between her and one of the old studio buildings of Savannah College of Art and Design.

As she swiped an ID card over the sensor, the only thing on the building that looked like it came from the 21st century, she belatedly wondered if all of this was a mistake, if she should turn around now, call Gus from the train station, and beg for him to let her come home. The lock on the door clicked and drove that thought from her mind as she pulled on an antiquated door knob of one of the french doors with her free hand and flung it open enough to shoulder into the building with her oversized portfolio and green plastic tackle box.

Florence referenced a map and schedule on the screen of her phone as she paused in an entranceway with pliable hardwood floors that squeaked gently as she shifted her weight. She glanced at the digital corkboard to the left briefly, another small piece of evidence she hadn't in fact travelled to another time, and then clumsily made her way up an old flight of stairs to her right and into the first studio on the second floor.

She slid her phone into the pocket of her shorts and nervously pulled at the hem of her violet tank top as she looked around at a room full of art students almost a full decade younger than her. She suddenly felt incredibly short and inadequate by comparison. A few of them glanced at her momentarily, but her entrance went otherwise wholly unnoticed. She took a second to glance around the room. Most of the space was devoted to a circular three-level amphitheater with two of the levels staggered with almost entirely occupied easels. At the most sunken in level there was a raised dais draped in a canvas cloth and topped with a robed and lounging female model with from-the-bottle red hair swept up in a messy bun secured with chopsticks. She was reading something on a tablet in a bright yellow case made to look like the face of a cat winking, with a lazy expression. She was pretty in a rough sort of way, but closer inspection of her face revealed the more age worn face of a woman in her late thirties, possibly middle-aged.

Florence was late but after drawing her gaze across the room once more, observed that so too was the professor and let out a small thankful breath. She regrettably set her sights on one of the few easels available located on the lower of the two levels and requiring she squeeze past the most number of other students possible. On one of her best days, Florence knew she would not have the grace to get there without drawing attention to herself. She pulled her portfolio and supplies in front of her chest before trying to slide discreetly behind six other occupied easels. Three muttered apologies and one reassuring smile later she was one step down from her destination, a step that she unceremoniously tripped over sending her lurching forward into a wooden barstool. The barstool toppled over, and the cacophony that resulted and echoed throughout the large high-ceilinged room triggered a warm pool of red in her translucent cheeks. She quickly righted the stool before recovering her portfolio and hanging it by the handles on the side of her easel.

She ignored the eyes she felt from around the room and did her best to blend back into an unnoticeable place she'd been in before her spill. The model had laid down her tablet and stepped down now from the dais at the center of the room. She held the neck of her robe closed in a show of modesty that Florence found peculiar and endearing for a nude figure model. The model picked up Florence's tackle box from where it had fallen and after she realized what the model was doing Florence stepped forward and retrieved it from her with a shy crimson-cheeked smile.

At that moment the door to the studio burst open again for the first time since Florence's entrance. The model smiled a quick 'You're Welcome' in response and then returned to her place on the draped platform. Florence welcomed the new distraction for the other occupants as she set up the collapsible shelf attached to her easel that she noticed being used around the room and put her supplies on it before doing her best to jump up on to the stool quietly. Her feet briefly dangled a good six inches above the ground before she tucked them into the stool and turned her attention back to the new arrival in the room she could only assume was the teacher.

He crossed the room behind the easels that faced her and deposited a briefcase and a blazer that was slightly out of fashion onto a desk there before stepping swiftly in a way Florence could never accomplish down into the center of the room. The studio was quietly waiting his address.

He looked to be in his early fifties, but he'd aged in a way only men seemed to be able to manage and was admirably handsome. He had a sweep of dark brown hair with thick graying side burns and thick dark eyebrows. He was fairly tall, Florence supposed, though everyone seemed a varying degree of tall to her, and had broad shoulders and large arms. He was wearing a navy t-shirt and a pair of well fitting dark wash jeans. He had an Indiana Jones air about him, she observed amused as he folded a knee onto the edge of the model's platform and looked around the room.

"I understand," He began in a deep but resoundingly clear voice, "that punctuality is a generally favorable quality in members of society. As displayed by our first encounter, you've most likely realized it's one I don't much worry about." Florence raised an eyebrow to a philosophy that she hadn't found common amongst most authority figures.

"However I do apologize for my lateness today. I do realize the need for direction on at least the first class," he smiled in a way that made him look boyish despite his age. "From now on, though, whether I'm on time or not there should usually be a model already waiting for you. Though I won't be docking grades for any tardiness it will benefit you to use your time to your advantage. Begin without me, warm up, I promise you'll get your very overpriced money's worth of instruction. As you've probably gathered," he held up his hands to indicate their inherent emptiness, "I won't be passing out any syllabi today or spending inane minutes on roll calls."

He stepped away from the platform and paced slowly around it.

"I'm of the jump right in school of teaching, as I'm sure many of you can relate, I didn't become an artist to do paperwork." The room responded fondly to this sentiment and Florence smiled nervously. He stopped briefly in front of her and looked up at them through long eyelashes.

"I'll learn your names in time, and though I'm not checking any boxes on a list I will notice when it comes to midterm time if you've been ditching too much, and so will you, so just keep that in mind."

He moved onto a different part of the room, allowing Florence to breathe, and gestured to the model, "this is Cara." The model smiled at them and stood, before dropping the robe off her shoulders. He simply instructed her into a basic standing pose and then adressed the room again. "Newsprint and charcoal are fine in here, what we'll use mostly unless I let you know otherwise. Today we'll talk about composition, but we'll begin with a few short poses to warm up. Just make sure you're filling up the whole page and be mindful of what you include or don't include in the drawing." A rustling began around her as Florence and the other students set up a pad of Newsprint paper on their easels and went into their various containers of supplies to retrieve charcoal.

"You can go ahead. We'll give this one about five minutes." The other students focused on the model, but Florence observed the teacher for a moment more. He stepped back up to the main level behind the highest circle of easels and pulled out his phone, scrolling through something on the screen. Florence looked back to the model and studied her for a moment.

"This is Figure Drawing section A, if you haven't figured that out already," he called back to them as an afterthought, "I'm Jeremy Gilbert, forgot to mention that. No Mr.'s or Professors in there. Just Jeremy." And a soothing bit of bluesy jazz filled the room as Florence placed a piece of soft charcoal in a sweeping motion against the thin paper.

_This was born out of a curiosity of what TVD characters would be like in a possible future. Based around what Lexi says about the possibility of more than one epic love especially for a vampire. So I just started writing something. The only clear assurance I have is that one out more Salvatore brother will be prominently featured. I would love to hear opinions on where you think they would all be in 30-40 years and which characters you think I should include. Although SCAD and Savannah are real places, I have not been there myself so attribute any difference to the time jump :)_

_Let me know what you think. I will try to include season six as canon as it comes out but may give up if I'm still writing by the time season seven starts out if I don't like the way six ends, lol_

_Sam_


	2. Two for Joy

**Two for Joy**

Jeremy Gilbert stepped back into the recessed center of the drawing studio in his morning section of Figure Drawing. He'd been observing them during their last extended pose for the class that day with the curious apprehension he usually approached freshman classes. While Jeremy was a part of the Sequential Art department and most of the classes he taught were Junior and Senior level line art classes, he was obligated on rotation to take sections of freshman studio and lecture classes. It was always a mixed bag when it came to freshman, but so far the cross section of this class seemed fairly normal. There were a few students that the wisdom of experience had shown him probably wouldn't survive their undergrad, a wisdom that made him dislike freshman studio classes most of all. There were talents as well however, and there were those who had been the talents of their peers that would quickly learn they were now in the middle of the pack.

One student that intrigued Jeremy above the others, he now observed from below her easel on the first raised step in the small amphitheater as the last few minutes of the pose passed on. While the room had started out hesitant as the last couple of hours had passed the room had started to buzz with the amused din of young and bold personalities. She remained silent and focused however, separated in her own space somehow from the rest of the room. She had a beautiful sense of form and while he had offered some instruction to most of the other students, he had merely observed her quietly when he came to her easel on his rounds around the studio. He glanced up at her now from the other side of the easel and took in her appearance for the first time. She was small in stature with fair skin and a shock of red hair. He realized vaguely now that she was possibly much older than the rest of the class. She could have been almost thirty, but her small size and full figure gave her the softness of youth. Jeremy pulled away and glanced at the screen on his watch.

"Okay," he announced clapping his large and weathered hands together, "That's it for today. Thank you, Cara," Jeremy addressed the model as she broke her pose and reached for her robe.

"While we didn't get into the syllabus today, you'll probably notice that it becomes a theme throughout the rest of your day's classes. That's because as much as I loathe it, it is required by the college. I've sent yours to your school email, so if you'll read it over before Wednesday we'll spend some time briefly going over it. Also, you'll hopefully have noticed that your supply lists included a sketchbook. One of the many ways you will be graded this semester is on maintaining a sketchbook. If you don't have yours, get one. For now, just draw from observation. You'll have more specific assignments as we go on, and we'll go over them on Fridays."

Most of the room nodded in acknowledgement as they started to pack up there things.

"Alright," he waved a hand towards the exit, "Get out of here," he said with a smile. He turned back towards the desk where his things resided, but paused briefly as the other occupants of the room happily and obliviously departed. A chill ran up the back of his neck, igniting a long dead instinct that made the muscles in his arms tense and his hands ball into fists. He remained still as the room emptied and then swung around in time to see a flash of red before the door closed on an empty studio. A shadow flew across the row of windows on the far wall, the silhouette of a large dark bird making him swing around once more and like that the feeling was gone.

Jeremy released his fists and let out a breath, silently cursing the tricks he knew his mind was playing on him.

Florence carefully extracted herself from the rows of easels with better success than when having entered, waiting until everyone else filed out first so there were fewer obstacles. She glanced back for a moment at the too still back of her teacher, and a strange feeling crept inside her. Her gaze shifted to one of the windows where a large dark bird was perched. It tilted its head and something about its beady gaze made her stomach lurch. A need to flee from its piercing stare erupted in her. She swung around, fumbling to pull the door back open and stumbled through it out into the hall with a frenzied flash of red hair.

When Florence reached the thick hot air of the late Georgian summer her heart was racing and her stomach churning, and she didn't understand why. She stood with her back against the brick wall of the building trying to lengthen her hysterical breaths to a normal rate. As they slowed, a series of strangled laughs bubbled out of her chest and into the air around her.

She was being silly. The laughs became more normal as she convinced herself that believing a bird had been staring at her was laughable.

Florence took a deep breath.

She had made it through the first class of the first day of her new beginning.

Florence bent and picked up the portfolio and supplies that she had dropped in her nonsensical panic.

This was not the first time that panic and dread had followed her on her journey to Savannah; she just had to keep moving forward. As she stepped off back towards the Student Center, Florence thought of Gus and with her free left hand absentmindedly twisted the ring he had given her around her finger.

The sun beat down and the beads of sweat reappeared on her brow as Florence walked across part of the campus. She had meant to leave the ring behind, that would have been the right thing to do, but somehow every time that she imagined parting with it the breath would leave her lungs. It was a beautiful blue stone in an antique silver art deco setting and had been passed down to Gus through family. She knew holding onto his family heirloom after leaving the man that had promised her a family of their own was despicable. She knew it, and yet . . .

Florence paused at the fountain that punctuated her journey to the Student Center and stopped to sit beside it. Her next class wasn't for more than an hour, and the soft mist of the gurgling fountain cooled the back of her neck. She leaned her portfolio against the stone wall she was perched on before unzipping it to retrieve a flexible leather bound sketchbook, clipped together by a felt-tipped drawing pen.

Florence unhooked the pen and folded the cover back on the sketchbook to a crisp and unblemished page. She put the pen to the page and slowly out of oil slick feathers, a glistening eye, and dark menacing talons the image of the black Corvid reappeared before her. The ink and paper doppelganger did not incite the panic that its flesh and feather inspiration had. Florence tried to take comfort in that, but even its two dimensional gaze unsettled her.

"Not quite a murder is it?" Florence started and pulled an errant streak across her page with the pen. She looked up into the face of her Figure Drawing professor.

"Sorry," he chuckled softly. "You know some say the appearance of a solitary crow is a bad omen. I would draw him a companion if I were you."

"Jeremy Gilbert," Florence acknowledged as she closed the binding of her sketchbook and hid the bird's ominous gaze. "That's not a good sign in my case," she sighed.

"Has a lone feathered friend visited you recently?" Florence paused in response and a soft and sympathetic smile crinkled the eyes of her teacher as she left his inquiry unanswered. "I meant to ask you your name in class this morning. You did well." She blushed at the praise and she knew her complexion declared her embarrassment to him.

"Florence." Jeremy folded his blazer over his briefcase and took a seat beside her. "Hawthorne," she added in her tinkling voice.

"You have a beautiful namesake," he commented, "Italy is beautiful, and Florence is by far its jewel. Especially for an artist."

"I've never been out of the states," Florence replied with a sad smile.

"You're young," he smiled again crinkling his eyes with kindness, "You have time to see a lot more."

"I hope so," Florence replied with a look down at the ring that belonged to a different life and a different future.

"Have you thought about a Major specialty yet?"

"I was accepted on my drawing portfolio. I was hoping to enroll in an Illustration major at the end of the year." He smiled with a nod and stood.

"You're suited to it," and his favorable compliments made blood pool in her cheeks again, "That's Beatrice Cornwall's department. Some of my classes overlap with that curriculum. I look forward to observing your progress, Florence," he said as he extended his hand.

"Thank you," she replied with a shy smile, leaving his hand in the air between them.

He smiled and dropped it to his side, "See you on Wednesday," and with that Jeremy Gilbert crossed the square and disappeared behind the doors of the Student Center.

_Still sticking to season 6 canon and gonna try and keep all of the season canon. As the last 4 episodes come out, I'll let you know if I decide to deviate. :) Thanks for the reviews. Keep letting me know what you think TVD characters would be doing 40 years from now. _


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